


Butterfly

by Skysquid22



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skysquid22/pseuds/Skysquid22
Summary: Flames of terror and the sting of acceptance fizzled out and Gavin gazed back up. Back to restingbitchface.exe, but this time he felt weird. Not,I’m bleeding weird,orI want to go into a comaweird. Just… weird. But he could spend a different night wondering about that. Instead, Gavin gave into the brick and lazily reclined against the wall, taking his sweet time until he was settled. “Okay.” Nines stared back, expectant. Gavin quirked an eyebrow and then winced at the sting.Right. Not a deviant. How could I forget.“Take care of me,” he said, exhausted.Gavin Reed is content on quietly suffering from his injuries until his stoic, undeviated, no-nonsense partner, RK900, steps in.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 17
Kudos: 279





	Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cannedsunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannedsunlight/gifts).



> This originally began as an experiment on how a character colors the perspective, but it grew to an full-on fic. Dedicated to Sir J who loves whump and angst, I hope you like this!

Gavin carefully flexed his hand by degrees. The skin, rubbed raw from carpet burns and bruised purple, was already drying up and uncomfortably starting to crack. It stung a little, but really it just _ached._ Thus, the increments to flex it back into use. He watched his own morbid exercise, putting focus into taking mental notes rather than the electric scene around him.

He couldn’t close his fist all the way yet, as blood welled to the surface signaling him to stop.

Couldn’t stretch it all the way out either without his fingers throbbing like each one had its own pulse.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“Detective Reed?”

In. Out. Slow down—“Shit.” In.

“Detective.”

He glanced up but continued with the ministrations. His partner's angular face warped stark shadows and diluted bright lights. Already an eyesore due to that stupid two-toned jacket of his, but here, now, the android looked magnitudes worse. Tall, stoic, and had empty pale blue eyes which only reminded Gavin of harsh Michigan winters. The kind you never wanted to revisit.

In. … Out. … In. … Out. …

What was he waiting for?

“Detective Reed…” RK900 said, his voice way quieter than needed. “You require medical attention.”

Gavin scoffed, it came out raspy, like he needed to cough. But no. That’s just what getting your trachea wrung like laundry did to you. “Are you asking or telling me?” Jesus, he sounded so meek and useless. His throat, in particular, was going to look like hell pretty soon—he hadn’t had to care for injuries like this in awhile.

“I’m telling you. I wish to apply it.”

“Fuck off.” Shame he’d never paid attention in ASL. Could’ve actually put those two years of language requirement to use right now. Or not, considering his hands felt full of splinters.

RK900 didn’t like to leave things unfinished, Gavin figured that out quickly. Conversations, reports, missions, threads that were meant to be seen and recognized—never _pulled._ But that damn android did it anyway. Who was he trying to impress? There were no Colonels to take orders from, no CyberLife employees to give him direction. The way he accomplished his task to the fullest… it was eager, in a way. Gavin frowned. Kinda depressing in another.

RK900 still hadn’t taken a name yet, thank god for Connor on that part. _He_ made it clear of its importance so Gavin didn’t have to.

“I must—“

Reed shook his head some and regretted it since it agitated his headache. “No. You don’t.”

“I—“

RK900 had cut _himself_ off. Interesting, but Gavin didn’t want to pry into that vulnerability now. He wanted to go home and take care of himself. No need to break tradition after all.

RK900 stepped closer and pulled his hands from behind his back. Safe and secure in a plastic grip was a first aid kit. Gavin so badly wanted to say, _Did you “borrow” that from the ambulance over there?_ The retort was at the tip of his tongue, but it got lodged in his throat before it got that far. Gavin instead glared and ignored the laceration on his temple reopening from the motion.

Quietly, like he was trying not to spook a rabbit, RK900 set the kit down on the still wet asphalt and opened it. Gavin merely watched—he had his time to react and spit back earlier tonight. RK rose in one smooth movement, not even needing to push off from his knees, with a bottle of alcohol and butterfly tape. Reed would groan but that’d agitate his throat further and he was already sick of RK900 doing whatever he felt like doing.

He saw RK900 glide his hand towards his cut form a mile away. Just before he could tenderly dab at it and begin to clean it, Gavin reached up with a shaking arm and languidly shoved his hand aside. He was fatigued enough that if the android was just a tad more insistent he wouldn’t have the energy to defend himself. His knuckles were bleeding again, his wrist was probably sprained, the rest of his arm ached from the abuse and stress it went under, but he refused to let RK900 have his way again.

“I’ll do it myself,” Gavin whispered, unwilling to back down.

Gavin kept his arm curled around his stomach and went back carefully eyeing RK900. Not a single shift in expression; plain, stoic, and calculating as the day CyberLife made him. After a moment of neither one of them budging, RK900 held out the materials to Gavin. _Prove it,_ he heard the android taunt.

So he wanted a performance, eh? Another test of Gavin’s limits, _let’s see how far the resident asshole can take his stubbornness._ Bitterness and frustration brewed in his gut and briefly climbed up his throat. Painfully, he took a moment to swallow back bile and something else lingering he couldn’t—didn’t name. Gavin reached out for the bottle first with his hand that didn’t feel like glass and met plastic. His headache flared when their fingers met but ignored it like the rest of the ache he was feeling. He’ll manage it later—a little Advil usually took care of headaches.

Quickly—shit too quickly, Gavin grabbed the smooth bottle and pulled it under his chin to examine, clutching it tight so it didn’t slip out of his hand. Squinting and ignoring the blood crusted over his brow he focused on the silver label. It—It just said water. What the fuck? “Why…?”

RK900 looked down at Gavin’s hands. “Isopropyl alcohol will not clean a wound, despite popular belief. So instead water was packaged to achieve the effect it was intended for.” RK paused, but he didn’t spare a moment for Gavin to process how he was going to apply the bandages without a mirror. “Detective. I need you to ask me to take care of you.”

“Wh—“ Gavin’s focus jumped to the gold. So much better to focus on something stable and not the flashing red and blues on the brick alley wall. “No?”

The android stiffened up considerably, Reed couldn’t even conceive how a stuck up goody-two-shoes like RK900 would look more like a Ken doll. RK’s face ran at a constant restingbitchface.exe. Gavin’s vision at the moment may have been like he was swimming underwater, but he could still tell something off on that porcelain face. Ice chip eyes were brighter… or something. Jesus, he didn’t have the will to go through any of this shit.

“Detective,” RK900 tried again, “I need you to ask me to take care of you.” The android concerningly took a slight step towards him, crowding Gavin against the concrete. It was too familiar of a sensation like the memory was a raw wound and RK was digging his fingers in to reach bone. Gavin couldn’t help but stare at his feet with wide-eyes as fear clouded his mind. Was this it? Was he going to actually die here? He thought he got lucky when RK saved his ass from the bridge of his nose getting shanked into his brain. Instead, Terminator wanted his own time with Gavin Reed. Then, in a very quiet, enigmatic, voice, RK spoke, “I will not hurt you.”

Flames of terror and the sting of acceptance fizzled out and Gavin gazed back up. Back to restingbitchface.exe, but this time he felt weird. Not, _I’m bleeding weird,_ or _I want to go into a coma_ weird. Just… weird. But he could spend a different night wondering about that. Instead, Gavin gave into the brick and lazily reclined against the wall, taking his sweet time until he was settled. “Okay.” Nines stared back, expectant. Gavin quirked an eyebrow and then winced at the sting. _Right. Not a deviant. How could I forget._ “Take care of me,” he said, exhausted.

Jesus. That sounded lewd. Whatever. It wasn’t like the android was going to care much.

Peace said, the android moved swiftly. A pale, plastic, pseudo-hand reached out for his elbow that wasn’t out of commission, but the stress of the day ran Reed ragged. The movement was spontaneous. He couldn’t keep track of the fist—no—hand. Coming from someone he knew and expected to throw a hit. Violently and unintentionally, Gavin flinched and gasped as pain radiated through his body.

That stable gold spun like a laundry cycle. Disoriented, Gavin looked down the alley at the garbage bins. “My apologies,” RK said in a carefully controlled voice. God. Why did everything have to have consequences? A—warm?—hand took his elbow gently then moved to his back. At least there wasn’t too fucked up. Possibly bruised when he was thrown to the ground though.

Together, with RK900 holding him like a date to prom, they walked out of the comfort of the dingy alley and into a cool breeze. The wind felt nice in the suffocating summer night humidity, blowing Gavin’s tousled hair further out of shape and into curls while the damage on his face throbbed in response. Nothing good lasted forever huh.

He kept his head down and eyelids half-closed, resigning himself to fully commit to RK900’s care. With his injuries soon to be taken care of, Gavin had no reason to worry now. The sounds around them were awful though. Cop cars whooped, officers chatted—probably about how much of a fuck up Gavin was, but he listened to their footsteps. Paying attention to that until they found some quiet. As the chaos faded away, it allowed some more straight forward-thinking.

One of Gavin’s hands was holding onto RK900’s forearm and he squeezed. RK stilled, forearm still perched for Detective Reed’s convenience while his other hand lay lightly on his back. When Gavin pressed and pushed at his arm, RK looked down at him expectantly. “My statement, I—“

“I will take your statement once your injuries are taken care of.” RK900 applied pressure at his back to move Gavin along, but he wasn’t done.

Voice straining, “How’d you get me out of there without,” he swallowed and felt ill, taking a moment for his throat to recover, “Connor stopping me? The paramedics…” God fuck this. His headache grew in intensity at his own inability to communicate. He liked running his mouth, always at the right time, sometimes to the wrong people, but who were others to judge him? But getting his wings clipped like _this—_

Gavin scowled, tasting bile in his throat. His mouth was going to be disgusting tomorrow morning.

RK900 pressed at his back again and Gavin, through the thick of his leather jacket, felt RK rub his index finger delicately up and down his side. It was near impossible to tell that RK900 was doing it, but years of burying his feelings six feet under left Gavin touch-starved with an eye for this shit. Hypersensitivity was a bitch. He continued to keep his head down and bit his tongue, allowing it to happen. In the back of his mind—no not the brick-breaking migraine he had—a single thought simmered and stewed as they walked. RK900 didn’t do this. Tender, that is. The war machine did not care for coworkers. Every early report, every coffee given out of efficiency, was all out of RK900’s sense of urgency to complete his mission, which was all he bothered with.

Though, Gavin _did_ give him a mission.

Gavin gave a cursory look at his swollen knuckles and realized that RK wasn’t pitying him. The robot was only doing what he was told to do.

A sudden wave of nausea washed over Gavin and he paused them both to bend down to gag, but nothing came up. Gavin could feel sweat plaster his pale face and steel eyes watching him.

RK900 pressed a hand into his side to encourage him and spoke up, interrupting Gavin’s rabid mind, “I messaged Connor as we left. He knows.”

Gavin foolishly scoffed and flashed a grin full of mirth. _He knows._ The same phrase underdog criminal underlings and forty-year-old women with affairs used.

Aching, Gavin stood back up and held onto RK900’s arm, trying to relax into the fragile touch. They crossed a street with a crosswalk, slick and shiny with rain still and stopped beside a glass door and stellar light.

He squinted and focused on where they were actually going. The android for all he knew could be walking him off a bridge. Gavin’s frown soured. That wasn’t very funny. They walked around a slick black Audi until the harsh fluorescent ecosystem was behind them. Wait hold on. RK opened the door and tried to shuffle Gavin in, but not without explanation.

“Since when did you—“

RK900 stood tall as a lamppost and might as well have been one for that yellow light at his head. “I bought it recently to appease Connor. He suggested that I purchase a ‘keepsake’, I chose an economical option.”

Bullshit. Who the fuck buys a sport car and says it’s an ‘economical option’. Gavin shook his head and refused to go relax in the leather seats that probably reeked of ‘new car smell’. He turned to face the android who was still blocking him in with the car door. RK wasn’t deterred, the bastard didn’t know when to stop. “Please step in.”

Gavin scowled, truly once again ignoring his pain tonight. “No, I don’t get it—“

“Please sit down, your stress—“

“Quit—“ Gavin slammed his forearm down on the top edge of the door, narrowly missing RK’s hand, “— _fucking_ interrupting me!”

RK shut his mouth with an audible ceramic click. Gavin forced air in through clenched teeth. God, he wanted to yell. He wasn’t even sure at what or at who or what about—he was angry and wanted to be heard. For fucks sake, he wasn’t even sure why he was angry. RK900 bought a car, so what? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Arms and hands shaking from his outburst Gavin drew his palms against his eyelids and forced himself to breathe again. The shout did no favors to his throat at all, he could barely speak.

RK dropped his hand from the car leaving an opening for Gavin to walk away. Gavin slowly drew his hands down his face and peered at the obvious opening. He didn’t move. RK maneuvered around Gavin to place the first aid kit on the rubber mat under the passenger seat. Gavin ignored RK900’s gaze and leaned to the side to let him pass. God. They were destined to be like this. It wasn’t even the fact they were partners, it was as simple as he was an asshole and RK900 didn’t get that. Second to himself, RK was the most stubborn being he had ever met. Chancing a glance at the android as he slowly pulled out of the passenger seat, Gavin read unflinching blankness. Gavin sighed, looked away, and cradled the forearm he slammed on metal. His wrist was worse, but he wasn’t going to say it aloud. RK could see all his problems like it was written on his forehead, Gavin didn’t have to say anything about the ache in his ribs, a now newly throbbing arm, the foreign whiskey tinged spit mixed into the blood on his face. Couldn’t hide anything from an android.

 _Maybe that could be a good thing,_ Gavin thought as he sat down. He pulled the door shut, ignoring RK who still stood just outside the tinted window. After some more lag RK900 jerked slightly and began walking over to the drivers' side. Odd.

Gavin struggled to buckle himself up without hurting himself, but he was not going to let RK fucking buckle him in, so in the rush he bumped his forearm against the center console. “Shit,” he gasped. To mitigate the pain he pulled his arm to his chest and bent himself over to swallow the ache. Gavin groaned, idly wondering if it was broken, and rested his body against the door. He could use some sort of crutch even if he didn’t wanna say it aloud. A moment later RK slipped in and started the car, but once again paused in place like a webpage refusing to load. The car was humming, it was on, it wasn’t moving—why wasn’t RK900 driving his ‘keepsake’. Gavin leaned into the cool glass and took a minute to think.

RK900 was so brutally efficient that when he was interviewing a witness Gavin overheard him say, “Please refrain from adding any unnecessary language.” to the distraught, rambling, clearly panicking, friend of the deceased. Gavin had to put his pride away for a hot second and pull RK aside and tell him that efficiency didn’t always mean the straightforward option. RK900 kept it short and clipped. And like the good little FBI wannabe rat he was, the android only spoke to people to get information out of them. The exception was always Gavin on rare occasions. And right now he was ramming headfirst into rare occasion after rare occasion. Gavin watched a still RK stare down the street, burning the cars’ electricity. What had gotten into him? A virus? That’d explain why he kept pausing, downloaded one too many pirated movies. Then, like nothing had happened, RK900 resumed his normal ‘metal pipe up the ass’ state and smoothly pulled out, driving to Gavin’s apartment.

 _Did you have a fucking stroke?_ Gavin wondered, biting his tongue and refusing to swallow.

He huffed and decided to write his laundry list of wonders down and save it when he didn’t feel like something scraped off the sidewalk. So he kept his gaze on Detroit, blurring by. There was no one on the streets nowadays, so the ride to his place was going to be short.

It didn’t exactly seem that way when he got off work earlier in the day. His rickety little apartment and his cats were not on his mind three hours ago, only thirty-seven years worth of revenge.

Gavin, out of a sense of retaliation for being cared for, picked at the leather of his seat. The interior was just like the outside, but there was a white highlight around some features. He sniffed and wondered if RK900 bought the car purely because it matched his outfit. That’d seem like something he’d do. Gavin’s head throbbed with pain and he realized that he couldn’t even breathe in the ‘new car’ smell that no doubt would be there. His sinuses might as well have been full of blood.

In one moment Gavin watched RK’s blue LED spin and in the next, he had a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, shivered, and took a second to figure out his surroundings. RK900 stood by the open passenger door, but past him, he could see his apartment building. Gavin waved away RK900’s help getting out. He dragged himself up and only fumbled unbuckling himself a little.

Gavin played his nap off, but there was something nagging at him. A concern that’d follow through the night if this shit wasn’t planned out. “I...” he started, licking his chapped lips and walking ahead onto his building, “I have a concussion.” 

Luckily he didn’t need to elaborate this time, RK found the question after sifting through humans convoluted body language. “Keeping you wake is not necessary,” RK followed him like an agent protecting the president. Standing just at a distance to not be considered impeding. Gavin wasn’t sure if he hated it or not as he unlocked his door. “It’s another common misconception that when you get a concussion you need to stay awake. However, it is recommended that you stay under observation for at least 24 hours.”

Inside, it was monotone with darkness. Two pairs of glossy, bright eyes peered at Gavin from their position on the couch, otherwise not moving. There was a soft click as the front door closed and RK900 walked up next to him, the android was gazing at Reed and not at the mess of his apartment—old boxes kicked aside, crumbs everywhere, coffee-stained ceramic mugs lined up on the counter—it was a mess, a fucking mess. His apartment wasn’t meant for guests, that’s why he never took guys home— _here_ he could relax and not worry about kicking some jackass with chiseled abs out. 

But RK, on the other hand, seemed intent on staying. Gavin invited this situation though. “Does that mean you’re not leaving?”

“I will care for your injuries and in the morning I will take your statement and drive you to the hospital proper,” RK900 said, firmly. Well, that was that then, huh? There was a strange finality that even if he refused RK’s help the bastard would pretend not to hear it. No budging, no negotiation, only results—shit should’ve been the fucking tagline when they released the model. 

Gavin kept to the wall as he turned away from his mess of a living room and kitchen. The second he spotted the white ball of fur he called Peach lounging on his bed a wave of exhaustion fell upon his shoulders like expectations. He must’ve stopped and longed for sleep a tad too long, because sure enough, RK900 was already corralling him into the bathroom. “Okay, okay.” he croaked.

A second later the bathroom flooded with fluorescent light and Gavin winced away. “Fuck.” 

“The bright light may agitate your headache,” RK900 said, maneuvering around him to get to the medical supplies he put in the cabinet. Some ego and assumption _he_ fucking had.

“Ya think, asshole?” Gavin grumbled, squeezing his eyes tight and opening them again to get adjusted to it. RK moved aside, towel in hand, and put the kit from the car on the toilet seat. Once the android was out of his way, he moved toward the mirror to measure up his damage from previous fights. 

He figured this fight would place somewhere between his nose scar and his first undercover operation. 

The mirror’s reflection cut those previous, thoughtless fights down and instead presented raw truth. 

His face looked like a Pollock painting—off-color green, gore red, poisonous yellow, spidering white, bloody purple, all meshed together like a map of horror. Follow the colorful road to Gavin Reed’s shitshow of a life. The scar across the bridge of his nose wasn’t broken, but the bone underneath certainly was, just barely visible thanks to the stark shadows showing the fault line. The cut across his brow and temple was crusty with red and flaking maroon, but the blood had already flowed down over his eye and was smeared across parts of his face. That, or it wasn’t his own. His tongue felt cumbersome in his mouth and he ran it over his teeth, feeling for anything out of place. The mirror reflected nothing was misshapen except for the blood in his mouth, staining his teeth pink. Jaw was bruised to high hell, so was his throat. He quickly stopped stretching it to get a look at it in the harsh light. He knew it was bad, could feel it. 

Gavin knew it wouldn’t be as worse if he fought back more, but strength failed him then. It wasn’t a battle of their muscle it was a release of emotion, years of it. That’s what started the fight. That’s what ended the fight. He sighed and let his hand fall.

Through the crime scene on his face, Gavin spotted the one thing that made his blood boil. There was a small imprint on his cheek, hosting the familiar pattern of a thick, gold, emerald ring. It was the only piece of jewelry Gavin had ever seen him wear, some sort of prized possession kept long before Gavin was born. The imprint was slightly cut up and beginning to bruise.

Reed jolted away from the mirror, away from RK900 standing patiently waiting for god knows what reason. Through a painfully clenched jaw, he forced himself to breathe steadily. Fuck all of that. He preferred sapphires anyway. Removing a white-knuckled fist from the sink, Gavin waved RK over, “Come on. Get it over with.”

RK900 tilted his head up, like a soldier and confidently paced forward. He ran a well used maroon rag under warm water, squeezed out the excess, and went to work. RK’s hands descended on Gavin’s face like friends during a time of tragedy, one palming his bruised cheek the other set on gradually wiping away blood from the cut above his brow. The small strokes were firm, but decidedly cautious. Through the haze of the evening, it was impossible to tell if the robot learned how to be careful with people or Gavin just wanted to feel that way. So he closed his eyes and focused on the feeling.

A smooth rhythm quickly adapted. Wash, rub, rub, rub, rub, wipe, wash, etcetera. Bit by bit Gavin basked in the motions, relaxing at the cool touch. Too tired to care for propriety or keeping up with his goddamn front—not like RK900 was the one to blab about shit anyway—he leaned into the palm when RK turned his head to get at the blood on this jaw. Huh, he didn’t even notice he had blood there. RK900 continued, carefully avoiding his cheeks, which probably had the most mess. 

The sound of running water went again, but the hands on his face left. Gavin cracked an eye and saw RK unfurling a package of butterfly bandages. He turned off the tap and returned to Gavin, setting the strips just so the cut wouldn’t reopen. Gavin watched through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a doctor?” He couldn’t help but push RK900 buttons, it was second nature. 

RK remained steadfast, but his tone was light when he replied, “I am equipped with all up to date medical knowledge, specifically masterful on common injuries attained while fighting.”

“An army medic,” Gavin hummed, his voice just barely heard, “of course.”

“Should the occasion arise, I can also perform deliveries.”

Wha.

What?

RK900 read the mass confusion on his face before it even registered by drawing away final touches on the wound. “Apologies. I thought an absurd and ‘left-field’ statement such as that would improve your stress and overall mood.” 

Well shit, now he felt like an asshole. “Well—” Gavin sighed. Truthfully he wanted to drag that comment out, point out what other shit he could do that was _left-field_ and make himself laugh that way. But he was sick and tired of shit right now and all he wanted to do was disappear. Succumb to a void for a few hours. Black-out peacefully. That kind of stuff. “Well,” he breathed, “sorry Nines.”

The pale hands working on getting the next bandage ready froze in place—it was like time stopped. Gavin, realizing a second too late what he just did, painfully held his breath too unsure of what he was fearing. Retribution? Radio silence? Whatever he feared, it became clear to him that he didn’t want RK—Nines?—whatever, he didn’t want him to go back to being the same cop he knew before this godforsaken night went down. 

A name. A name was important, and Gavin just gave him one.

So Gavin waited, measuring time passing with his breaths. Eventually… Nines curled his fingers around a white strip. Sharp blue eyes stared down at the butterfly bandage like it was prey. “Please close your eyes while I apply this last strip, Detective.”

_No._

Gavin blew out a shaky breath and refused to close his eyes no matter how dry and itchy they became. Looking for eye contact and getting none, Gavin reached out and covered Nines’ hands with a fragile, fucked up one. “Don’t go back damn it.” He felt like yelling again, in fact, he _desperately_ wanted to grab his partner by the shoulders and shake him until he started telling stupid jokes. Instead, he pushed his hand into cool plastic. “Make another joke, call me Gavin, let me call you Nines. Fucking— _try._ ” Voicebox pushed to the limit, it gave out slightly and Gavin had to quit speaking. The familiar pressure in his throat had built up and tears started flowing. He breathed hard to get rid of sobs as tears fell without his permission.

Nines applied the last bandage.

Then the faucet turned on again, the slightly bloody rag was put into his hands, and large hands once again descended upon his face. This time thumbs poked and prodded around the bridge of his nose. Gavin squinted up as his tears covered Nines’ hands. What was he doing? He had to have heard all that embarrassing shit. Should they talk about this? With his throat out of work and his hands unable to curl into fists, Gavin couldn’t really communicate—

Sharp pain jolted through his face and he winced, trying to pull back from Nines’ touch, but the pads of his fingers held on tight keeping him in place. Right, he broke his fucking face again. Nines had found the break. Gavin had his face set before, Tina did it after a fight and he bled a goddamn liter of blood. 

Oh.

He squeezed the hopeless rag in his hands.

Owlishly, Gavin looked up. He hoped that Nines could read the fear in his eyes, bastard probably could and would go ahead with whatever plan he had anyway. So Gavin tried to relax for the inevitable to little avail. Nines met his eyes at last and said, “Hank just sent me a message. He has your phone and is taking care of…” he paused, but kept eye contact, “our suspect.” 

Gavin’s shoulders dropped and realized—

Nines pressed the two uneven parts of his face in place and there was an echoing snap.

 _“Fuck!”_ Gavin hissed, throwing the towel up to catch the blood messily dripping down his lips. He curled into the pain, forcing Nines to step out of the splash zone. Gavin blindly trudged to the sink like a wounded soldier and used the warm water to wipe away some of the blood, clean the cloth, and watch pink water drain away. 

Jesus shit. Gavin took his time crouched at the porcelain sink like a gargoyle to think. That was timed, that was deliberately timed. Nines couldn’t figure out a reply so he did the one thing that’d get him to stop. Make him bleed out. He had to hand it to him on that evasion, regardless if it was actually intentional, but it felt like it was. Gavin gave a wet laugh and left the rag in the sink. 

The most important part of that was the elephant in the room. _Our suspect._ It felt like the final iron pike on this railroad of ‘RK900 learning sensitivity’. Carefully said, avoiding the more important word starting with the letter ‘F’. Nines did take Gavin’s advice, he tried.

After some time, he shut off the faucet and groaned into the still air. Initially, it felt like shit, but the constant pressure on his face had lifted. Headache wasn’t gone, but he could be more expressive again. Nines swiped the wet rag from the sink and drained the bloody water out of it. “Please stand up. I still have to care for your bruises.”

“Drugs?” Gavin murmured.

Nines put a hand on his shoulder. “Soon.” 

“Mhm.”

Gavin rose from his hunch, but remained hovering over the sink. At least until the bleeding stopped. Nines worked around him though, as always. When Nines finally decided he was finished, he stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. Gavin scoffed and walked into the space that was put between them, but Nines was satisfied so he had already turned away to the medkit. Gavin rested the uninjured part of his forehead on the space between Nines’ shoulders and Nines didn’t move away. He still fiddled with a plastic baggie of name brand painkillers, but he stood still, allowing Gavin to keep up with his own unorthodox behavior.

“I can’t read your vitals from this angle. Are you alright Gavin?”

“Just.” He closed his eyes. “Just be quiet and be tall.”

So he did.


End file.
